


Lonely Hearts

by VagrantWriter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Unvierse-Modern Westeros, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Psychological Horror, Serial Killers, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 08:25:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4997710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VagrantWriter/pseuds/VagrantWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A horror story.</p><p>Where Theon is the Jack to Ramsay's Ripper, with something supernatural thrown in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lonely Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Halloween is my favorite holiday, so here's my contribution. Warning, this is gory, like whoa, and fairly graphic in places, but what's Halloween without a good slasher story?
> 
> Also, seeing as it's the season to get scared, I thought I'd share some of my absolute favorite short horror stories, both of which influenced this particular fic. Warning there, too, because they're both pretty disturbing and about a thousand times scarier than anything I could come up with.  
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream](http://hermiene.net/short-stories/i_have_no_mouth.html)  
> [The Enigma of Amigara Fault](http://brasscockroach.com/h4ll0w33n2007/manga/Amigara-Full/Amigara.html)

She seemed like a likely girl. She’d had too much to drink, and her friend had left her at the bar to go flirt with another man. Theon ran his hand through his hair to give it that disheveled look and put on the charm he used to have in abundance before…

He shook that thought of as he approached the girl.

“Seat taken?” he asked, sliding in next to her.

She looked up at him from her glass of beer. She liked what she saw. Theon wished he could remember what it felt like to take pride in that. Instead, he took out a cigarette and lit it with a practiced flick of his lighter.

“I mean, I suppose your boyfriend wouldn’t mind if I sit here until he gets back.”

“Oh, I don’t…” She sat up straighter. “I’m here alone, actually.”

Bad choice of words.

“Really?” Theon took a drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly. “Pretty girl like you, alone?”

Her face was already red from too much alcohol, but she managed to turn another shade at the compliment. In truth, she was a rather plain girl, especially compared to her friend, who was now sitting in the lap of the man she’d gone after and laughing loud enough that the entire bar could hear. Even if she wasn’t a particularly ugly girl, she was used to living in her friend’s shadow.

Theon pointed to her half-empty glass. “Buy you another drink?”

She twirled a lock of her hair around her forefinger. “Sure.”

She drank the beer he bought for her and left with him far too eagerly. As they exited the bar and headed down the street, she grabbed his arm and flung it over her shoulder. She nuzzled up next to him, smelling of alcohol and arousal.

“You’re such a gentleman,” she preened. “What’s your name?”

“Theon,” he answered. It raised fewer questions that way.

“Oh, sexy.” She giggled and plastered a wet kiss into the crook of his neck.

His breathing hitched, but not for the reason she probably thought.

She grabbed hold of his lapels and dragged him with her until they were pressed flat against the alleyway wall. It smelled of garbage and stale water back here, and the light from the streetlamps barely reached them.

She moaned and writhed in that way drunk girls did when they were trying to be sexy, dragging her fingernails through his hair and presenting her neck for him to ravish. “Oh, Theon.” She wasn’t even looking at him. “Here. Right here. I can’t wait anymore.”

He shook his head. “No, not here.”

“But I can’t _wait_ anymore,” she repeated, thrusting her hips. “I’m horny _now_ , and I’ve been waiting ages to lose my virginity.”

“You’re a virgin?”

She nodded and leaned into his chest. “You’re the first guy who’s ever…” She hiccupped. “Who’s ever shown any interest. Who’s treated me like a true _gentleman_ ,” she added drunkenly. She choked on a sob. “It’s not fair. I try so hard to get guys—people—to like me. I know I’m nothing special, but even ugly people like me need to be loved.”

“You’re not ugly,” Theon said, genuinely.

She sniffled. “And what fairy tale did you step out of, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome? Are you my knight in shining armor?” She stifled her demure little giggle. “Prince Charming, maybe? I like that. So, kindly, Prince Theon…” She bucked her hips again, inviting him. “Would you fuck me against this wall?”

“I’m sorry. I can’t.”

She stared up at him with enormous eyes, bloodshot from drinking, as he pulled away. “Wh—?”

He didn’t stay around to see the look of dawning comprehension on her face, or the hurt and disappointment that followed. She’d thank him, if she only knew what he was sparing her.

 _Gods, why did she have to say that?_ he cursed to himself as he hurdled down the alleyway. His hard-heeled shoes clicked like deranged heartbeats and echoed off the brick walls. It wasn’t that she was a virgin; he’d brought Ramsay virgins before. It wasn’t her vulnerability; that’s what he preyed on. He wanted to take her by the shoulders, shake her violently, and scream, “Don’t just go with the first person who gives you affirmation. Can’t you see that it’s a trick?”

They were all such idiots. If they couldn’t smell an obvious trap because they were so smitten with positive attention, they _deserved_ what they got. He shouldn’t have left this one. Her suffering would be finite, mere seconds compared to what he had endured and would continue to endure, especially whenever his conscience felt like speaking up and he had to crawl back to Ramsay empty-handed. He hated this. He _hated_ it.

Now he had to return to Ramsay and there wasn’t any time to find another girl. Even now, all these years later, he still thought about running on nights like this. It was stupid, of course. He’d tried it a few times, but that was all it took to realize that even if he escaped, he couldn’t elude Ramsay for very long. Ramsay would always know where to find him, like a beacon alerting his position. Running would buy you a couple hours, at most, but that didn’t make up for the punishment Ramsay had planned when he caught up to you.

The streets were dark and empty as Theon made his way to the fishing district. Ramsay had rented a loft in one of the buildings down by the wharfs. He preferred places that were out of the way, difficult to escape from, and unlikely to draw attention even if someone from outside heard the screaming.

Theon stripped off his jacket as he trudged up the stairs, every step like a measured heartbeat. This was how he measured time now, by the seconds he could buy before he had to present himself before Ramsay again. He thought often about the dichotomy paradox: At some point, he had to climb half these stairs before he could reach the door at the top, and after that he had to reach the halfway point between the halfway point and the door, and so on and so on. By dividing the amount of stairs he had to climb in half at each step, he could, theoretically, remain in a state of constantly climbing the staircase, since every distance could be divided in half again and again. Tragically, this was the realm of mathematics and not reality, because soon enough he found himself at the door, turning the knob, and stepping through.

“Reek. I don’t hear a heartbeat. Have you come home alone?”

Reek closed the door behind him. “I didn’t see any I thought you’d like.”

The loft was sparsely furnished with the only items the two of them needed—a dining table, one dining chair, and a bed. It was all Ramsay requested from a place. He sat at the table now, chair faced towards the door, fingers steepled. “Oh, I find that hard to believe,” he said. “You know I’m not picky.”

Reek stared at the floorboards. They were warped, riddled with ugly knot holes. “I couldn’t get anyone to take the bait.”

Those warped floorboards creaked as Ramsay pushed back the chair and stood. He came around the table, and Reek counted his steps as he drew near. “I find that even harder to believe.” A hand grabbed Theon’s chin and forced his head up. “This face? Who would turn that down? I’ll go out and find the bitch myself.”

Reek wanted to tear his gaze away from Ramsay’s cold eyes. As always, the chest on the table tried to drag his attention away. He fought it and looked into his master’s face. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I failed you.”

“You really are useless, aren’t you?” Ramsay knocked him to the ground. “You think you can lie to me? You think there’s a single thought in your head I can’t read?” He pointed at the chest on the table and his voice rose in volume. “You think I don’t _know_ that you let that whore go?”

Reek cringed in on himself. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“You _are_ sorry.” Ramsay grasped him by the hair and dragged him across the room. “You’re pathetic.”

The rafters of the loft made for a convenient place to shelve the items from Ramsay’s chest. There were only two things they brought with them as they traveled. Wherever they went, Reek hauled Ramsay’s large chest, full of his toys and instruments, and Ramsay clutched Reek’s little chest, always safeguarding it. It seemed that Ramsay had spent most of the day setting his toys out, displaying them with pride for a woman who would not be making an appearance tonight.

He pressed Reek up against one of the sturdy beams. Reek, wisely, did not move as Ramsay went for his knives. He flinched when he heard Ramsay returning and felt the weight as the larger man hovered over him and hemmed him in. His fingers twitched as Ramsay laid his hand palm-out against the harsh grain of the beam. He gritted his teeth as the first blade sliced through his hand to the wood beneath and pinned him. He didn’t fight when Ramsay took his free arm, stretched him out to the next beam, and pinned his other hand.

“I want you to picture her face.” Ramsay’s voice was level, his breath hot against Reek’s cheek. Reek hung limply from his stocks and whimpered. “I want you to remember that she’s the reason you’re suffering tonight. Because you were too much of a coward to have her take your place.”

Ramsay had a third knife in his hands. It was as sharp as the other two, made to cut through flesh like soft butter. He used it now to strip the clothes from Reek’s body. He cut the nice button-down shirt into neat little ribbons, so delicate that he never once even nicked Reek’s skin. The leather belt and tailored pants followed. Hundreds of dollars in clothing, ruined. Reek was fine with the clothes being gone, though. They were Theon’s clothes, not Reek’s. It felt like taking his costume off when he was finally bare. He shivered in relief even.

Ramsay mistook it as trembling—good, he would like that—and smirked.

The knife came to rest against Reek’s navel, so gentle that it raised goose flesh. “I must love you, Reek,” he breathed. “I never get bored of you.” He licked Reek’s neck all the way up to his ear. His tongue was scorching hot but left more goosebumps behind. “I’m in the mood for something new, but I’m having trouble remembering. Have I ever used a razor blade on your teeth?”

Reek nodded. “In King’s Landing, when I scared the girl away before she even got to you.” He’d been new at this then, used to convincing women to get into bed with him but not so much in luring them to their deaths. As punishment, Ramsay had taken a rusty razor blade between his two front teeth, a sort of reminder to use his mouth carefully from now on. Reek could still feel the lacing pain even just remembering it.

Ramsay nodded back and tapped the knife against Reek’s stomach. “Have I ever…ruptured your eardrums?”

“With nails,” Reek answered. “In Dorne when I…when I tried to run away.” It had only taken one swing from the hammer to drive the sharpened nails into his ears. The rending sound was the last Reek remembered before the world became muted. He could still hear himself screaming, though, because the noise rattled through every bone in his body and directly into his brain. That had been a lesson about _listening when I call you, Reek_.

Ramsay paused and sucked on his teeth in thought. “Have I ever burned your eyes out with acid?”

Reek thought. He’d had his eyes stabbed and gouged on with both sharp and blunt instruments. He’d had his eyelids cut off. Ramsay had a particular fondness for his eyes, a sort of ongoing lesson that Reek should always and only keep his eyes on Ramsay. So he did. He never looked away. But he had to admit that he couldn’t remember any times with acid.

He shook his head.

“I don’t have any acid with me,” Ramsay sighed in disappointment. “I used it all up. Next time, though. That’ll be something to motivate you to do your job right, eh?”

Reek nodded.

“Alright, we’ll do the usual thing.” Ramsay pressed in with the knife, just hard enough to cut through the layers of skin. The blade slid easily from Reek’s lower stomach up to his ribcage. It left a nice, clean cut in its wake large enough that some of the more eager organs began to slip out on their own. They were always waiting for a chance to escape, his insides.

Reek choked and gagged. His intestines hit the floor with a wet plop, still connected to the rest of him, now connecting him to the ground. They were purplish and looked like a giant, sickly, bloated worm hanging from the cut in his stomach. The sight of it always roiled his stomach, even over the pain. Was there a word for nausea when your guts weren’t even inside your body?

“Oh God,” he whimpered.

“ _Oh God_ ,” Ramsay mocked back. “Half of you is lying on the ground and that’s all you’ve got to say?”

There was the pain, there was always that, but the human body wasn’t great at understanding such damage done to it. Ramsay knew this. He knew all about shock. It was why he worked up with the women, introducing them to pain they could first understand and then introducing them to pain they couldn’t imagine. Reek found himself there sometimes. Just when he thought he’d experienced every pain he could imagine, Ramsay would find something else.

Reek’s knees trembled, but the knives in his hands wouldn’t allow him to collapse. “Please,” he murmured. He wasn’t even sure if he said it out loud or merely mouthed it. “Please, I’m sorry. I was weak. I’ll do better next time.”

“I know you will.” Ramsay tickled the bloody knife along Reek’s throat. “If you beg me sweetly, I’ll end this early. I won’t even force you to eat that.” He kicked at the coils of Reek’s intestines. “Go on, then. Beg with that sweet mouth of yours, Reek.”

“Please, please, I’m sorry, I’m useless, I know I’m useless, I deserve whatever you what give me.” He had to stop to bring in a breath. His lungs could feel the outside air whistling in through the gap in his stomach. “I’m so grateful, Master. I’m so grateful for your patience and your mercy and…and for creating me. I…I’m so imperfect compared to you and—”

“Yes, yes, enough of that.” Ramsay sighed in annoyance, and Reek was terrified that he’d overdone it. “Tonight, your voice is annoying me.”

With one swift motion, he sliced Reek’s throat open.

Reek gurgled. Blood welled in the back of his throat. His legs gave out and he hunched forward, held up only by the knives in his hands now. They were strong and held his miserable weight as he choked to death.

Ramsay was in a merciful mood tonight. Usually he would drag these sessions out for hours. He could already feel his consciousness slipping away. There was no pain as the darkness overtook him.

 

***

 

Reek drew a gasping breath and sat up. He was naked and sprawled out on the floor. Nothing new there. He always woke up in whatever clothing had been left on him when he’d died. He took a moment to adjust, slow his breathing, gather his thoughts. Then he sat up and felt for his throat and stomach. There was only smooth, soft, whole skin.

“You do that _every_ time,” Ramsay’s voice chuckled, “like you’re surprised or something.”

Light streamed in through the loft’s windows, so it was probably the next day. A death like last night’s wouldn’t take long to recover from. Ramsay was seated at the dining table again, sharpening his knives. The steady sound of the blades against the whetstone was like a metronome. He liked to watch the regeneration process, but this one had to have been fairly mundane for him.

He said the most interesting time had been when he’d stuffed a lighted explosive into Reek’s sorry ass. It had taken three full days for Reek’s scattered parts to regenerate. The damage it had done to their apartment and the attention it brought them had made sure he’d never tried that again, but he still liked to reminisce about it. He liked to see how far he could stretch the curse. Burning, flaying, even grinding into tiny pieces—Reek came back every time, whole and healthy and ready to die again.

Reek got to shaky feet and made his way over to the table on his hands and knees. He stopped and knelt and watched Ramsay like an obedient dog. The little chest was still there as well, also beating like a metronome. He wanted so badly to look at it, but Ramsay would be displeased. The thing that was in the chest wasn’t Reek’s anymore, wasn’t Theon’s. It was Ramsay’s. And as long as Ramsay held it, Theon was dead and Reek wished he _could_ die.

“I forgive you,” Ramsay said, “but you’ll need to bring one home tonight. No more of this fighting me, understand?”

Reek nodded.

“Good. Go get yourself dressed and cleaned up. I expect you to be breaking hearts tonight.”

Reek nodded again and got to his feet. He was always wobbly after he came back and had to lean against the table for support. The chest was right there. It was _right_ _there_. If he could grab it, he could end this hell. It would only take a second. A second.

Ramsay saw him eying it and pulled it close, giving Reek a disapproving look. “Now, Reek, you’re not thinking about trying to escape me, are you?”

Reek realized his mistake and shook his head. “No, master, absolutely not.”

“Good.” Ramsay set his knives aside and stood. He came around the table and flung an arm around Reek’s shoulder. “You know I love you, Reek. Every time you try to run, you break _my_ heart. You know that, right? You have my heart, Reek.”

Reek nodded. “And you have mine,” he murmured watching the little box on the table. If he strained his ears, he could almost hear it beating inside. If he concentrated enough, maybe he could break through the dark power keeping him alive. He willed his heart to stop beating, but, as always, it was no use.

**Author's Note:**

> LOL. Okay, I just had to share this with someone. This is the review that got one of my books taken down from Amazon: 
> 
> "The book also has blasphemy which is one of the main resons that I returned it. The Amazon lady who returned it for me went through a lot of trouble to and I think the blasphemy was the main reason."
> 
> The book's back up now, but I just had to laugh. Apparently I have the forces of Satan working for me to make returning my books difficult or something. :p


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